


Unarmed

by Saoirse_Laochra



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e07 Pretty Much Dead Already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since his sixth birthday, Daryl William Dixon had never gone anywhere unarmed..." Short little drabble piece about something I noticed during 'Pretty Much Dead Already'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unarmed

**Author's Note:**

> One of my stories pulled from FF.net

Since his sixth birthday, Daryl William Dixon had never gone anywhere unarmed. His older brother Merle had given him his first weapon, a small pocket knife with his initials engraved on the handle. It wasn't much, but Daryl had carried it in his pocket every day for almost ten years, no matter where he was, or what he was doing.

When he'd turned ten, Merle had bought him his first crossbow. It wasn't anything expensive, and at first, he could barely load the damn thing, but he'd loved it from the first moment he'd set eyes on it.

He was thirteen when Merle gave him his first rifle, a Winchester .22.

Sixteen, when Merle bought him his Horton Scout crossbow that he still used.

Twenty when he got his first pistol, a Browning BDA.

Over the years, he'd amassed a large collection of guns, knives, and other weapons. And since that day, almost thirty years ago, when Merle had given him that little pocket knife, he'd never, ever went anywhere without some sort of weapon on him, even before the world had went to Hell in a hand basket.

But at that moment... When he seen the rainbow shirt, covered in blood, and dirt... He'd dropped his weapon. For the first time, Daryl William Dixon was unarmed.

He hadn't had a choice. He'd reacted almost instinctively – and hell if that didn't scare him more anything else about that God-forsaken day – dropping the gun to the ground, arm sweeping around just in time to grab the frail, gray haired woman who was making one final effort to hold her baby.

It took all of his strength to hold her back, and even then, she was dragging him closer and closer to Sophia. Closer to death. Farther away from the weapon that was his only means of protection in this new, dangerous world.

And for the first time in thirty years... He didn't care.

In some distant part of his mind, he knew that Carol wouldn't stop. That adrenaline would keep her going far longer than it would him, as she dragged him further along the dirt path.

And in that distant, far away part of his mind... He knew he would let her. As he threw his arms around her, he was no longer worried about just stopping her; she'd dragged them close enough that he was worried about saving her. He wouldn't let the thing that had once been Sophia bite her. Would take the wounds himself in a last ditch effort to keep her mother alive.

And for the first time in a long time... Daryl wasn't worried. He'd made his peace with what was going to happen. The shotgun a few feet behind him now, he waited for the inevitable, feeling a sense of calm that he hadn't ever known wash over him.

And then a single shot rang out...

And the thing that had been an innocent, smiling little girl dropped to the ground.

Reality shifted into focus.

And he realized that for the first time, in a long time...

He wasn't armed. And as he continued to hold Carol close, feeling her shuddering, body-wracking sobs tear through her, he realized...

That was okay.


End file.
